My Drive
by Sandman0893
Summary: A hard-bitten Blood Elf is caught up in things beyond his control. At least he has his sense of humor, his sword, devilish good looks, and modesty. There will be romance and adventure, and Azeroth will never be the same.
1. CH1:It wasn't me!

…Cold…

His waking thoughts were simple and sufficient. He was really freaking cold.

As his consciousness slowly rose from the stygian abyss, he was puzzled by this new sensation. He tried to remember how he got here, only to find that he could not. Not as someone who forgot where they hitched their war charger or where they put that Skeleton Key, but amnesia like he never had any memories before now.

As any rational being in his position, he began to freak out. A panic so primal in nature that there was no rational that could console him. His mind quickly took on a primal fight or flight focus, but something about the "flight" part felt wrong.

He wouldn't run. He had never run, and he wouldn't start n…

Another presence made itself known. A demonic booming came from every part of his being and this bleak existence.

"All that I am: anger, cruelty, vengeance - I bestow upon you, my chosen knight. I have granted you immortality so that you may herald in a new, dark age for the Scourge.

Gaze now upon the lands below us. The Scarlet Crusade scurries to undo my work, while Light's Hope stands defiantly against us - a blemish upon these Plaguelands. They must all be shown the price of their defiance.

You will become my force of retribution. Where you tread, doom will follow. Go now and claim your destiny, death knight!"

He sat up, gasping and in a cold sweat. With furtive eyes he scanned the room. His pulse was calming down and the short burst of adrenaline guaranteed he would not fall back to sleep.

Not that he needed it. It just humanized him, or rather vitalized him. The man laughed at his own little joke, a short scoffing affair that seemed to scorn such thoughts and sounded as if it were underwater. He hadn't had a real laugh in a very long time.

With a sigh, the man walked slowly to the balcony. Though, it is not quite accurate to call him a man. Blood Elf was what people normally called him or Death Knight, occasionally a truly spiteful being would call him "Belf" -a hated racial slur- and every now and then he was called hero. He preferred his given name; at least he thought it was his given name, Felryn.

He leaned against the balcony of the inn and took a long look over the nightlife of Ogrimmar. The happy commoners, the content if not lazy peons, and two trolls arm-in-arm in love enraged him. With a snarl, he struck the stone wall and left a crater.

They were happy; something that bastard took from him. Images flashed through his mind: innocent villagers falling before his runeblade, peasants contorting into twisted ghouls of their former selves, his fiancée. His breath hitched for a moment and tears began to gather. He never cried, he hadn't cried since he graduated the Blood Knight Academy. What made this different? True, these thing had happened relatively recently, only months ago in fact. Yet he had progressed in skill astonishingly fast. He smirked. Drive, his drive to thrust a jagged object through the throat of the one person he could never defeat, the one who had claimed to be a "friend." Rage boiled to the surface again, but this time it was fought down by cold resolve. That drive allowed him to reach a power ranking of seventy-four in an amazingly short time span.

He had a ways to go before he was ready, but dammit he would be. He would get his revenge if it was the last thing he did in his unlife. If he had to tear down the Wrathgate, crawl through Azjol-Nerub, and sprint through Icecrown Citadel naked to drive his fist through that bastard's chest and rip out his un-beating heart; so be it. He would never be denied.

With a final sigh, he pushed away from the rail and turned into his room. With a glance and an internal groan he realized he would have to pay for that wall he punched. Then a stinging sensation from his hand elicited a groan and another sigh, his hand needed medical attention and he couldn't give it. The mangled knuckles required a trained healer, probably even a priest. Now if only he could still…

His large ears picked up a shuffle. They weren't just for show, you know. He went on guard, and casually walked over to his gear. There it was again, right in front of him.

With a wicked grin, Felryn struck out with his holdout knife. Typically a rogue's weapon and crafting tool, with a master behind the strike as well as unholy strength, a knife could do a whole mess of damage. A startled gasp was heard and with an almighty lunge, Felryn drove the dagger into the rogue up to the handle. A Troll faded into sight.

Felryn was floored. He had just killed a fellow Horde member, an offense punishable by death. Panic began to take hold. Fighting down his fear, Felryn took the Troll's dead hand and gripped it around his dagger. After putting the corpse into a sitting position, the framed suicide was complete. Wiping off his fingerprint off of the Troll and putting his gear on, Felryn planned. No Horde city would be safe for a while, this event needed to be discovered and then cool down before he could show his face in a Horde city. He needed to get somewhere where he could blend in. Dalaran was a possibility, but the crowds and the sheer vast amount of other Horde champions to discover him made him uneasy. Alliance towns were out of the question. The Ebon Hold? Possible, but he'd prefer to use that as a last resort. Inspiration hit him like the Deeprun Tram, Shattrath City in the Outlands! Not crowded, relatively few people would or could recognize him, many choices of inn and some not friendly to Horde, protection of the Naaru, and he could disappear into the lower city in a snap.

Decision made and gear equipped, Felryn took a last look around the inn before stealing out of the window. Dead body in the room plus hole in the wall equals a very angry innkeeper and a hassle Felryn just didn't need.

So, Felryn the Blood Elf Death Knight ran through the streets of Ogrimmar to the portal permanently erected in the Valley of Spirits. Unbeknownst to him, the "Troll" he had killed slowly slipped from under the effects of his charm. By the time Felryn had flown his wyvern to Shattarth, a very surprised goblin innkeeper discovered a dead HUMAN rogue in his old room as well as so much blood it was almost impossible to believe it came from one human. Felryn knew very little of this, and as such did not quite understand the impact on his life knifing that rogue was going to cause.

A/N Hey! It's The Sandman here! This is my first attempt at a story and I would like some feedback if at all possible. Yes, I will attempt to take this further. I'm going to keep writing to keep the plot bunnies from going Monty Python and The Holy Grail on me.

P.S. I do not own World of Warcraft, Blizzard does. I own an account and made a character named Felryn on Zuluhed, he's mine. My story is mine. I thank Blizzard for such an awesome game. Blood Elves rule! Alliance drools!

Anu bleore dela'na, shorel'aran. (Google it for meaning)


	2. CH2: How The Mighty Have Fallen!

**How The Mighty Have Fallen!**

Outlands have an undeserved bad reputation. Just ask yourself, "What is the first thing that comes to my mind when I hear that word?" The blasted and hellish waste of the appropriately named Hellfire Peninsula comes to mind. The evil and Burning Legion gripped Shadowmoon Valley and the torn apart and magic saturated Nether storm follow close. Then there was Shattrath City. The mystical city where some of the most powerful, and yet benevolent, beings to ever walk…eh, "float" through this plane of existence.

Sure, just about everything thing you seem could kill somebody if they were careless. Yet Shattrath sits like a beacon in the darkness, and sometimes the only reason people ever venture to the edge of what we know and understand.

Or you can go to run away from murder charges and execution, disguise yourself as a washed-up hero-now-turned-disillusioned-drunkard, and wind up doing too good of a job at it.

Such was the situation that Felryn found himself in when an Aldor Vindicator kicked him from his meager "bed." That was being too generous; the Aldor was clearly attempting to boot him clear over the city wall. The bed sucked too.

With a groan, Felryn pushed himself up into a sitting position and internally cursed his dedication to his cover story. The early morning sun burned into his eyes, and already the streets were full of shouting, screaming people. He felt as if his skull was simultaneously caught in a vice-clamp as well as having a balloon inflated inside his head, a steel balloon… with spikes. He squinted in a vain attempt to see his assailant. Everything seemed fuzzy and imprecise even the words being said… he probably should have been paying more attention. Resolving that there was no time like the present, he listened.

"…rstand me, Belf?"

'No, I did not. I am severely hung-over and would appreciate you not bother me. Now please leave me be.' These were not his words, these are his thoughts. There appeared to be a miscommunication between his mind and his mouth. His words were more along the lines of: "Mrhuf, rrrungh ooooooohhhhhh. LeAve meh bbbeEEE!" This struck him as odd. He didn't seem to have full control of his body. This was not a typical hang-over. Now, what would cause-

His train of thought was abruptly cut off as the Vindicator viciously kicked him again, harder. With an almost guttural growl, the Aldor hauled him up by his ratty shirt and spat out, "Vagrancy is a punishable offence in this district!"

Right, he fell asleep on the Aldor Terrace… not his smartest move. Realizing that most vagrants were not accosted for being so, he just had to be the one Blood Elf Death Knight to have crossed the path of a Draenei Vindicator. They did not see eye to eye to say the least.

"Get up, maggots-for-brains! I'm hauling you in!"

This irked Felryn; yes he was a Blood Elf, yes he was technically undead, but he did not have maggots in his head. In his addled and hung-over state, this insult seemed to take precedence over the fact he was being drug to prison for a minor offence. Alarm bells began screaming in his head. There were no prisons in Shattrath, criminals were just banished magically. What was going on?

The booking officer took a look at the criminal, and immediately did a double take. She was experienced at combat and could hold her own in a fight, but prejudice had reared its ugly head. So she was stuck here booking and guarding empty cells. Still, she had enough experience to know something was seriously weird when she saw it. A Draenei dragging an uncooperative Blood Elf into the makeshift prison was one such thing. A very vocal Blood Elf. A very angry Blood Elf. One who was in possession of eyes as blue as ice. Thus sealing the coffin on the weirdest thing she'd ever seen award.

"I DEMAND TO SEE MY ATTORNEY! THIS IS IN BLATANT VIOLATION OF MY RIGHTS AS A NONCOMBATANT! I'M BEING KIDDNAPPED BY THIS CRAZY ALIEN SO HE CAN TAKE ME TO HIS RAPE DUNGEON TO DO UNSPEAKABLE THINGS TO ME!"

The Draenei was just as vocal, "SHUT UP! PEOPLE ARE STARING AT YOU! I WIL END YOUR LIFE!" The shouting ceased. There was a dead silence in the air as others began to stare.

"Well! I'd like to see you try. I'll make it fair: you use your weapons and armor, and I'll be unarmed and naked with bloodthistle addiction. Oh, I can also be blindfolded and bound hand and foot! You might want to bring back-up, just a pro-tip."

With a roar, the furious Draenei hurled the elf across the room and into the bars of a cell. Not into a cell, into its closed door. "HE'S YOUR PROBLEM NOW!" he roared and fled.

The officer just blinked, still attempting to process what had happened. She slowly turned to the groaning elf. She shook her head and walked over.

"What the hell is a Blood Elf doing here?" she questioned.

"Role-playing. Now can you please let me go? That bigot has put me through the ringer and unless you let me go, I will report this to Khadgar."

"I'm afraid I cannot do that. You are just going to have to get comfortable," she replied sternly.

"What do you mean? This is an outrage! I will have you know that I am a well-respected member of the Skyguard! I will not stand for this!" he shouted.

Now she was pissed. Nobody raises their voice to her, especially not a freaking Belf. "Shut up and listen! You are clearly impaired or you would have realized how bad your situation is right now! Just shut up and crawl your way into a cell and if I'm in a good mood I might cut your bonds." There was no response. She looked over and sighed, he had fallen asleep.

Grumbling, she grabbed one of the elf's arms and hauled him into a cell. On her way out, she placed his foot between the cell door and the doorframe. Admiring her handy work, she slammed the door violently on his foot. He woke with a shout and glared at her.

"Pay attention when I speak to you, Belf. I need your name for recording purposes. Do not lie, we know all members of the horde, especially so if you are as famous as you claim."

He glared defiantly and muttered "my name is Felryn." He paused for a moment and spoke with more confidence, "what may I call such a beautiful muse such as you?"

She deadpanned, "flattery will get your nowhere, except maybe to a doctor to pry my hoof out of your ass and deliver the news that will no longer be able to have children." That shut him up, this crazy chick would not hesitated to make his day end horribly, if it was possible.

Felryn suddenly noticed a smirk of triumph break across the Draenei's face. It was beautiful. His mind rapidly self-punished that thought. He couldn't do that! He was Horde, he kills Draenei. He always gave mercy to the womenfolk of the Alliance, though. Crap!

"It looks like we have a VIP prisoner! Haha! This will get me out of this hellhole for sure!" She cast a glance at the prisoner. "It looks like you may be my ticket out of this dump, so I feel a little kindness is in order. You may call me 'Grand-Overlord-Master Tal'quirah' and nothing else."

Felryn now realized that he was being guarded by an egotistical maniac that was somehow immune to his advances. His ego may be of the same magnitude as he thought this himself while watching Tal'quirah cackle maniacally.

Yo! It's the Sandman here! All the protagonists have been introduced. I thank all of you who reviewed; I was debating if I should continue with it or just drop it and hide it like a dirty little secret. I believe my actions have spoken. I love criticism (flames will get an appropriate response) it makes me want to do better and prove people wrong. I try to listen, if I screw something up LET ME KNOW. I don't like being wrong, but I hate staying wrong more. Thank you for your support, I try my best.

FOR THE HORDE!

(Shouted passionately while still attempting not to offend others)

The Sandman has left the building… or has he?


End file.
